Seasons and Changing ways
by White-Lily-Blossom
Summary: A short story, or a long drabble, depending on the way you look at it.


Autumn

"The answer is no, Potter, so don't even bother to ask" Lily Evans says, smoothing the folds of her gray skirt over her legs, straightening the Head Girl badge pinned on her left breast.

James Potter blinks at her over his thick glasses, his fidgeting hands in his lap, struggling to rise and mess his already hopeless hair. Her posture is stiff, her legs crossed at the ankles; her long red hair is in a neat braid, loose strands held in place with hairpins.

"All right," he says.

Lily huffs "really, don't you ever give up? I said-"she breaks off and stares at him, green eyes narrowed "what?"

James' hands are really itchy, as is his scalp; he stubbornly ignores this, choosing instead to simply shift in his seat. "All right, I won't" he repeats.

Lily looks a bit shocked; her mouth has lost some of its thinness, her eyes wider than before.

Silence descends in the Heads' compartment. James drums his fingers on his knees, tugs at his tie. Lily studies him, pretending to examine her nails. A curl slips free from one of her pins, and hangs in front of her face, auburn like the leaves on the trees he can see trough the window.

"Right," she says at last, startling him; he nods, but her expression isn't satisfied. On the contrary, there is suspicion lurking behind the emerald of her eyes, laced in the careful, brisk smile she gives him.

He can feel her eyes on him all through the sorting and the feast, careful and confused.

_It's progress_, James tells himself, and takes a second helping of treacle.

Winter

"This is a trick, isn't it" Lily accuses, her expression triumphant, as James sits in the common room, halfway through his Charms essay "to get me to go out with you".

The fire lights her hair, making it blaze gold and Gryffindor red as she moves, throws colour on her pale cheeks. Her hands are crossed, her nose red, and melting snow is still recognizable on the shoulders of her cloak.

James shrugs, dipping his quill in his ink bottle "no" he answers, and thinks: _not actually a lie, that._

Lily frowns, taps her foot, hesitates.

"Humph" she decides after a few minutes, and adds, "you've got a mistake there, Potter" before storming away, leaving a trail of little drops on the carpet behind her.

James smiles to himself in satisfaction, and crosses out the wrong line.

_Definitely progress_, he thinks.

Spring

"You dropped your quill, James" Lily says after class, and bats her eyelashes at him. He takes it and thanks her, stuffing it back in his bag.

She looks at him hopefully. There are daisies braided in her hair today, lovely in their pale colours against the vibrant crimson of her tresses. Her robes are perfectly ironed, as always, and she is smoothing her skirt in jerky, nervous moves.

He stifles a grin, his hands safe in his pockets "Lily," he says, the name still relatively new and awkward and perfectly exquisite on his tongue.

"Yes, James?" she asks, her voice sweet, her smile sweeter, and bats her eyelashes at him again.

"Lily," he repeats, leaning closer, and she opens her mouth "have you got something in your eye?"

She blinks, looking disappointed, and sighs "no, James. See you later".

He hums in response, and when she's gone, he picks up the daisy she lost before, smells it, and tucks it between the pages of his transfiguration book.

_Soon_, he thinks.

Summer

"James," Lily says, on a hot day, one month before their seventh year is over "James, would you, maybe..." she shuffles her feet, bites her lip, a slow blush creeping up her face.

Her hair is down, today, a shiny waterfall of scarlet catching the sun, a white ribbon above her right ear. Her robes are folded, held in her arms, and the white sleeves of her buttoned shirt are rolled up, revealing pale, freckled arms.

James takes a deep breath.

"James," she tries again "there's a Hogsmead weekend, this week, I thought, maybe, I don't know" her voice is unsure "you'd like to get an ice-cream with me, drink a cold butterbeer or something..."

James gapes at her, the knuckles of the hand clutching his bag white. It's one thing to plan, he discovers, and an entirely different thing to actually hear it.

"James?" Lily asks, her eyes big and green in her pretty face, and falters.

He finds his voice, somehow not surprised to discover it's shaking "I'd love to, Lily".

_Her smile_, he muses, as it breaks over her face, _is like the sunshine at summer_.

She lowers her eyes, and shyly takes his hand.

_Score_, he thinks, and wonders if his grin is really as huge as it feels.


End file.
